


Good Touch

by ksalterego



Series: Good Touch [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek gives good hugs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Touch, Hospitals, Hugs, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Mates, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Pack, Pack Cuddles, Pack Hugs, Questions about knotting, Questions about werewolf sex, Scent Marking, Scenting, Tickling, Werewolf Mates, but no answers (yet), still no answers (yet)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksalterego/pseuds/ksalterego
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek notices that Stiles doesn't have a pack, so Stiles doesn't get pack hugs.  Stiles clearly <i>wants</i> pack hugs.  Also, Stiles smells far too much like Scott, far too often.</p><p>Derek decides to do something about it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Touch

Derek nuzzled at Erica’s neck as her arms wound around his waist.  Isaac whined nearly imperceptibly, and Derek stretched out a hand.  Isaac jumped against them, his arms going around Erica and Derek, while Derek held them both.  He rubbed his cheek against the top of Isaac’s bowed head then rested there, slid his hands over their skin, until they both began to relax in his arms and the scent of the other alphas began to fade.

Pack.

 _His_ pack.

He held them as long as they needed, until they each moved away on their own, settled and secure; until they smelled like pack again and his wolf stopped growling about it.

"Ahem."

Stiles.  He'd forgotten...

"So, like, dude, not to interrupt the ménage a trois or anything, but- yike!"

"It's not," Derek growled at the kid, " _anything_.  It's pack."  He shoved Stiles' shoulder into the tree behind him once more, just for emphasis.  Stiles flinched, and it was interesting because there wasn't even a hint of fear-scent behind it.

"Yeah, yeah dude, I get it, pack, whatever."  Stiles licked his lips, a brief flicker of tongue that caught the lazy attention of Derek's wolf.  "So listen, since we're like twelve miles from Beacon Hills and I kind of sprained my ankle in that last fight and also I lost my cell phone in that swamp over there, do you think I could use your phone to call my dad?  Cause curfew's in about like ten minutes and if I'm not at home when he calls-"

Derek slammed his phone into the middle of Stiles' chest and stalked away.

\-----

Derek wrapped his arms around Erica and Isaac, always the first to jump to him after a fight.  Boyd shuffled closer slowly, reluctantly, but he somehow always ended up in the middle of their vertical pile.

 _Pack_.

Nothing better than touching pack.  Warm and comforting and soothing, smelling of pine and dirt and sweat and grease and skin and fur and family, and Derek sometimes thought he got more from them than they got from him.

"Ahem."

Stiles.  He'd forgotten...

"So, like, dude, not to interrupt the four-way or anything- hey!"

"It's not," Derek growled at the kid, " _anything_.  It's pack."  He shoved Stiles against the wall of the rotting barn one more time, just for emphasis.  Stiles flinched, catching the not-so-lazy interest of Derek's wolf.

_Prey?_

No.

"I _know_ that, sourwolf.  I was going to ask if I could catch a ride with you, seeing as we're like eight miles into the wilderness from Beacon Hills, and curfew-

"You can ride in the back."

"Dude, awesome!"

"Shut up."

\-----

Derek was on his knees, his arms around Isaac's shoulders and waist, pulling the pain from him.  It helped, with pack there.  Boyd's hand on one of his shoulders, Erica's on the other...they helped him be a stronger Alpha for them.

Isaac finally – _finally!_ \- sucked air, his hands scrabbled at Derek's shoulders, and Derek hauled him close, rubbed his cheek against Isaac's neck and his hands under Isaac's shirt to drown out the scent of death.  Erica and Boyd wrapped their arms around the both of them, and Derek closed his eyes to better absorb the scents of life and relief and love while his wolf wagged his tail and whined with relief...

"Ahem."

Stiles.

"So, like, dude, got room for me and Scott in the ol' jalopy?"

Derek looked up, over Isaac's limpet of a body and Boyd's wide shoulder, and noticed how closely Scott and Stiles _weren't_ standing.

"Yes."

"Yes!"  Stiles fist-pumped with his entire body and Derek rolled his eyes even as his wolf laughed with started amusement.

\-----

Derek held his pack, pleased that he could touch them all at the same time, pleased they were all safe and alive.  There was no blood this time, no injuries only he could heal.  There was only the warmth and heat of pack.  He inhaled the scents of Erica's perfume (then sneezed), Isaac's laundry detergent (Derek's, actually), Boyd's deodorant (new).  It was all mixed in with another scent, even more familiar, like his childhood home or his favorite shirt.

His wolf yipped, and he looked over just as Stiles said, "Ahem."

Derek said firmly, "Yes."

Stiles' eyes widened with surprise, his mouth fell open – and remained silent, would wonders never cease – and Derek's wolf came close enough to purring that Derek shuddered in disgust.

\-----

Derek stretched out on the floor, several throw pillows under his head.  Erica was curled up against his side, her head on his chest and his arm around her.  Boyd sat with his back against the couch, his thigh against Derek's bicep.  Isaac lay between Boyd's legs, but his head rested on Derek's chest and his leg stretched out to trap both Boyd's and Derek's, and he kept nudging Derek's similarly trapped hand whenever Derek stopped rubbing Isaac's forearm.

The movie they were watching was stupidly hilarious and it wasn't until the final credits rolled that Derek realized he'd been tracking Stiles' heartbeat as he slept on the couch through the entire movie.

Derek got up, shedding betas like confetti, and said loudly, "Ahem."

Stiles jerked upright, blinking and flinching and this time there was the faintest hint of startled fear-scent with it and Derek nearly had a seizure when his wolf whined and stretched out under his skin to comfort the kid.

Scott, watching from the other end of the couch, snickered at Stiles' flailing.  Derek leveled an Alpha look at him...in this case:  expectant and condemning.

Scott blinked when he noticed, his eyes widened, and his heartbeat jumped.  "Dude, what?"

"Don't call me 'dude', and get out of my house."

Scott scowled and bristled, but he was on Derek's territory so he mostly just grabbed Stiles and left.

The wolf _whined_ as they left.

\-----

Derek had his arms around his pack, nothing special, nothing unusual.  He hadn't seen them in a week and he needed them to smell like pack again.  He fooled around with them to do it, tickling Erica and Isaac until they fell to the ground helpless, then wrestling Boyd to the ground and manhandling him all over until school and teenagers and fast food and locker rooms were gone from their skin.

Derek sprawled on his stomach, half on top of Boyd and half on top of Erica, and looked sideways at Stiles, still grinning.

"Dude," Stiles said faintly.  "I'm telling."  The wistfulness in his eyes told a different story, and Derek wondered if that was something new or if he'd been missing it all along.

"Telling who, and telling them what?" Derek challenged, but lazily.  It was Stiles, after all.

"Maybe I'll just take pictures for blackmail."

"Again, who and what?"

"You're smiling," Stiles pretty much accused.

Derek changed his relaxed grin to a toothily predatory _something_ that wasn’t even remotely humorous and got up slow and lethal and he replied, "You're not."

Stiles was so smart, and Derek's wolf howled with joy when Stiles' eyes widened almost immediately and the scent of his happy terror flooded the air.  Then Stiles turned and ran out the front door of Derek's house and Derek leaped after him because yes, _prey_.

He herded Stiles to the woods, away from the cars, let Stiles evade him until they were well past the tree line before he tackled him.  They tumbled to the ground, Derek's wolf heaving with excitement, but he was careful to protect Stiles as they fell.

"Ow, dude."

"Shut up," because he knew he hadn't hurt Stiles and it was all a ploy for mercy he wouldn't give.

Derek tickled Stiles until he was a beseeching and incoherent mess and he no longer smelled of school or curly fries or his Jeep or _Scott_.

\-----

Derek hugged his pack until the scent of the alphas was gone before he let them leave for their homes.  Scott had hung around for a while after the fight, but Derek kicked him out when his squeamish snorting at all the touching got to be too much – but he'd forgotten that kicking out Scott meant kicking out Stiles.

His wolf whined disconsolately, and he knew it was because they'd both seen the longing look on Stiles' face as Scott dragged him away.

It was weird.  Stiles was like prey, but not like prey.  Movement drew the wolf's attention, and prey moved in patterns and rhythms the wolf could anticipate, predict.  Stiles moved like prey, in small twitches and flinches and in large flails that all captured the wolf's attention, but there were no patterns or rhythms the wolf could perceive (neither could Derek).  The wolf was fascinated by Stiles, interested in Stiles, and for whatever stupid reason, always wanted to be with Stiles.  And take care of Stiles.  And lick Stiles.  Which, to Derek's mind, made things even weirder.

It was also occasionally irritating, in addition to being weird; the damn animal just wouldn't shut up about the kid.

Derek waited until Sheriff Stilinski had been home for about half an hour before he knocked on the front door of the Stilinski home.

Stiles answered the door within seconds, energetic and flailing until he saw Derek.  Then he just panicked and flailed, his heartbeat skyrocketed and the scent of his immediate anxiety spiked.

"Wha- dude, wha-"  Stiles lowered his voice, "My dad- _what?_ "

"Hi, Stiles," Derek spoke over Stiles' head, loud enough for the Sheriff to hear.  "I came to pick up that game you said I could borrow."

Stiles narrowed his eyes and whispered violently through bared teeth, "You wouldn't know a video game- oh hey, Dad.  You remember Derek, right?"

"Sheriff Stilinski," Derek said as politely as he could while his wolf, again, laughed his ass off.  It was getting to be a thing.

"Derek Hale," the Sheriff mused and he narrowed his eyes at Derek, but he didn't reach for his gun or make any threatening moves that would cause Derek to feel a need to defend himself.  "You know Stiles?"

Still standing between the Sheriff and Derek, Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek and answered, "Scott knows him," then grabbed a fistful of Derek's jacket and hauled him past his dad and up the stairs to his room.

He closed the door behind them and Derek wrinkled his nose at the overwhelming funk of teenage boy.  Had he ever smelled this... pungent when he was a teenager?  He was pretty sure not.

Stiles turned in time to see the look on his face and punched him in the shoulder.

Derek grabbed him and spun him back against the nearest wall, but not at all hard and he only held him there with just the fingertips of one hand.

"Hey, what?" Stiles complained.

"You smell like school."

"So?"

"You smell like your dad."

"Well, yeah, he's my dad.  I think I might like to smell like him in a non-creepy way euuuuwwww you're grossing me out and you're making me think things I don't think I should think, dude-

Derek mashed a hand over Stiles' mouth.

"You smell like _Scott_."

Stiles rolled his eyes and murfled against Derek's hand.

"I don’t care.  He smells bad."

Stiles heaved a great sigh, which for some reason known only to Stiles required his entire body to communicate.

The wolf tried to lick Stiles.

Derek grabbed Stiles' shirtfront with both hands, dragged him to his bed and shoved him down, then fell on top of him.

Stiles screeched and shoved at him until Derek pushed his face under Stiles' shirt and rubbed his cheek over his skin.  Stiles was stronger than he looked, when he wasn't being tickled helpless, and Derek had to hold him down harder than he would have expected to get this done.

Between Stiles' alternating complaints and giggles and mock-angry growls (which made Derek's wolf growl back, yep) and squirming and shoving, by the time Derek got up to Stiles' neck he was actually surprised to realize that the fingers Stiles had wound into his hair were no longer trying to drag him away, but were simply there.

Derek pushed his nose against Stiles' neck, inhaled, and let his wolf rumble a happy growl when they scented no more Scott.  He lifted his head to look down at Stiles.

The kid stared back at him with glazed-over eyes and parted lips and warm breath and his pulse had taken off again again.

This was new information about Stiles.  Derek watched with interest as the dazed look and the sudden faint hint of arousal in the air eased over to embarrassed confusion.

Derek raised his eyebrows.

Stiles said, "What."

"Wow."  The kid almost never let anyone escape with only one word out of his mouth.  Derek felt special...for a very short moment.

"You're confusing me.  What are you doing?  Why are you here?  Is this some pack thing?  Cause you tickled me last time but not this time, well, you did but not really intentionally, I could tell, what are you _doing_ and why are you even here?  I need to wiki this- is this some wolfy thing, are you going to shift?  Is it a full moon – where's my calendar - and you're _on_ me in my _bed_ , what do you want-"

"Oh, good."  The kid was back to normal and that brief silence had been a momentary aberration.  Derek got off Stiles and his bed and grabbed his jacket from the floor where he'd dropped it on the way to Stiles' bed.

Stiles pushed himself up on his elbows, the rest of him still sprawled on the bed, loose-limbed and peeved.  "What?  What?  I'm so confused do you think you could just answer _one_ of my questions just _once_?"

"Which one?"

"Any one!"

"Okay.  _Yes_."

Stiles gaped at him, Derek's wolf fairly howled with laughter, and Derek called his politest goodbye to the Sheriff as he left through the front door.

The wolf degenerated into paroxysms of hiccupping laughter when Stiles directed a continuing barrage of questions at Derek, opening his bedroom window so Derek would hear until he was several blocks away.

\-----

Three days later, Derek crawled silently in through Stiles' open window.  Stiles sat at his desk, muttering at his computer as he clicked madly through the internet.  Derek sat just as silently on the foot of Stiles' bed and decided it was time to remind the kid about mountain ash; they hadn't had any real scary monsters to fight for a while now but that didn't mean they could let down their defenses.

He sniffed quietly at the room while he waited for Stiles to finish whatever it was he was researching.  Teenager funk.  Jeep.  Sheriff Stilinski.  No Scott.  Derek smiled at that.  It also smelled like home, which...interesting.

Stiles muttered a little louder, bent forward, and Derek wondered when the kid's shoulders had filled out.  Granted, he was far past seventeen now, but he always gave the impression of slender flexibility rather than the lean muscularity- oh.  No plaid shirt.

Huh.

Stiles flopped back in the chair and grumbled with irritation, one hand still clicking away, the screen flickering in tandem.

Derek's wolf noticed when the screen stopped on a grey wolf.  Stiles leaned forward, _still_ muttering.  Suddenly he straightened and said loudly, "What the fuck?"

Derek leaned sideways, far enough to see the entire screen.  Huh...and...uh oh.

"Knotting?" Stiles questioned.  "What is that even?  Who-" he paused to lean forward again, then got contemplative with, "Do werewolves-"

Derek interrupted that unerringly accurate line of thought.  " _Wolves_ do that.  To better ensure conception."

He wasn't sure how much of his explanation Stiles heard because Stiles shrieked and spun around in the chair at his first word, bringing the wireless mouse with him.  He flung it at Derek in an unexpectedly smooth movement.  Derek caught the mouse easily, but he was impressed at the improvement in Stiles' 'mad fighting skills' as the kid liked to call them.

Derek's wolf came gleefully alert and ready to play, tense and bounding against Derek's chest, under his skin, roiling against his biceps and thighs, and Derek growled the damn thing back into submission.  Since when had it decided Stiles was someone to be liked?  To be _played with_?

Stiles fell back in the chair and clutched at his chest with both hands and gasped dramatically.  "Derek.  Dude, fuck."  He panted for a few seconds to drive the point home, then sat up and asked completely deadpan, "Did you just say 'ensure'?"

Derek stared at the obnoxious kid.  He threw the mouse back.

Stiles caught it easily and put it back on the mouse pad behind him without looking.  "Did you just say 'conception'?"

"Is that what you heard?

"Well, I don’t know what I heard because I was too busy being scared out of at least two of my nine cat lives by a werewolf who suddenly _appeared_ in my room without _knocking_.  That's why I'm asking you what you just said, because I didn't hear-"

Derek growled, because whatever Stiles was, he _wasn't_ a cat.  He stood, grabbed Stiles by the arms and tossed him on his bed.

"Dude, is this where you tickle me to death again?" Stiles griped, but the sudden low scent of his desire kind of destroyed the idea that he didn't like getting handled by Derek.

"No."

Derek put a hand over the entirety of Stiles' face (including his mouth) and used the other to shove the bottom of Stiles' shirt up, then held him down at face and hip while he rubbed his face over Stiles' belly and chest and sides and his annoyingly evasive arms and then his neck, which, if Derek had to choose, would be his third-favorite place on Stiles' body.  Specifically-

Huh...and...uh oh.

\-----

Derek hated hospitals.

He hated the fluorescent lighting, he hated the low ceilings, he hated the audible (to his wolf) buzz of the heavy equipment, he hated the smell of cafeteria food and the chemicals and the _death_.

He hated them with the heat of a thousand suns and the smell of _hospital_ was one of the hardest to get rid of that he'd ever encountered in his life.

So when Isaac and Erica casually mentioned that Stiles' dad was in the hospital for a gunshot wound, Derek wasn't even remotely surprised at the moaning and complaining his wolf started up.  Stiles was undoubtedly there and the next time Derek saw him, _if they were lucky_ , Stiles would smell of hospital and chemicals and nauseating hospital food and he _wouldn’t_ smell of death.

Derek couldn't get his wolf to subside this time.  Couldn't growl it into submission and he knew without a doubt that if he shifted to wolf right now he'd be at the hospital doors when he shifted back.

Derek snarled.

Erica and Isaac gave him puzzled, sideways, suspicious looks, and he stomped out of his house.

Stiles had pulled a chair next to his dad's bed and sat with his forehead resting against the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched forward and hands clasped between his knees, body still.  He didn't move when Derek came in; he didn't look for danger to himself or his dad and he wasn't alert and he wasn't watchful.

The sudden need to _protect_ Stiles was so powerful it nearly gave the wolf control and it took Derek a few breaths to regain control.

Then he frowned at the scent-flood of Stiles' misery and fear and old grief overlaid by fresh grief.  It was all he could smell in the room and as much as he was happy to smell nothing but Stiles at any given moment, he also couldn't tell if the Sheriff was truly harmed.  He also didn't like the heavy weight of Stiles' loneliness and he _really_ didn't like Stiles' unresponsive stillness.

Derek frowned more and asked, "Is he stable?"

Stiles sat up, slowly, eyes on the Sheriff.  "Yes?"

"Yes or no?"

"Yes?"

"Stiles.  Yes or no."

Stiles finally looked at him.  "I- yes?"  It was a wish and a hope and a plea and a prayer, and the kid truly didn't know.

What.  The.  Fuck.

Derek left the room and went to the nurse's station and oh hallelujah, Scott's mom was there.  "Is the Sheriff stable?"

Melissa said reflexively as she looked up, "Are you family?"  Then she blinked, and frowned.  "Derek Hale?"

"Yes.  Is the Sheriff stable?"  This was another thing about hospitals.  People were far more irritating than they were out in the normal world.

She said, not unkindly, "I'm sorry, Derek.  You're not family."

Derek put his forearms on the high counter and leaned forward.  He let his wolf edge out enough to show her his shifted canines and his reddening eyes and said quietly, "He's _pack_."

She leaned back a little.  "Uh... _oh_...uh...yes.  He's stable.  He should recover just fine."

"Good.  Is Stiles staying with you?"

"Of course he is, you know-"

"Thank you, Ms. McCall," Derek interrupted, fighting the wolf to throw out at least a small hint of dark charm so Scott's mom wouldn't be completely freaked out.

Derek pushed back into the Sheriff's room, growled when Stiles didn’t look up again.  He grabbed the kid by the arm and hauled him out of the room, down the hall (wave nicely to Scott's mom) and outside.

Stiles came to life the second they left his dad's room and he flailed nearly all the way out and Derek couldn't do anything but keep pulling him.  He didn't have a hard time ignoring the flood of words coming out of the kid's mouth because they were mostly irrelevant pleas related to 'why' and 'what'.  There was something about 'kidnapping' but that was also irrelevant so he ignored that too.

He dragged Stiles around the corner of the building and then turned them face to face.

"Stiles, your dad is going to be okay."  Stiles' mouth didn't stop moving until Derek placed a careful hand over it...actually, not even then.  "Stiles, he'll recover."

Stiles ducked away and kept talking.

Derek grabbed the back of Stiles' neck with one hand and put his other hand back over Stiles' mouth.

"Stiles, he's going to be all right."

Stiles' arms started flailing and his hands banged against Derek's arms with no real purpose, but then his eyes filled with tears and he slowly stilled and then his knees gave way and Derek went down with him and pulled him close, wrapped his arms around Stiles and stroked the back of his neck and under his shirts, anywhere he could get at skin.  Stiles shuddered, made a loud gulping noise, and his hands were tentative against Derek's back before he finally clutched handfuls of Derek's jacket and bit hard at Derek's collarbone through the leather.

Derek held him and touched him until the scent of _hospital_ was diminished and his grief-stricken howls faded to quiet sobs and then to silence.

\-----

Derek returned to the hospital the next night.

He sent a slightly less-dark and charming smile toward Scott's mom as he passed the nurse's station and didn't roll his eyes at her startled and indecisive look.

Stiles sat in the chair he'd pulled over to the bed.  He slept with his arms and head resting on the bed next to the Sheriff's leg.

Derek put his hand on the back of Stiles' neck, as gently as he possibly could.

Stiles twitched, but remained asleep.

Derek kneeled next to him and put his face lightly against the warm, relaxed curve of Stiles' arm, then carefully slid his hand up under Stiles' shirts.

There was no way he could remove the scent of hospital from Stiles' skin without waking him, but he could weaken it, remove the power of it.

\-----

Derek returned the third night.

Stiles flailed when he opened the door, a weak imitation of his usual energy.  Still, it was better than the utter lack of response the last two days.

"Derek?"

"Shut up."

He pulled Stiles to his feet and into his arms.  Stiles squirmed and huffed, then sagged, and his hands lifted inside Derek's jacket and tentatively spread across his back.

Derek touched every bit of skin he could and Stiles was limp and quiet the entire time.

\-----

On the fourth night, Stiles had company.

Scott and Allison, Lydia, and Erica.

Scott was clinging to Allison; Lydia – well, she was someone you went to when you needed someone else's ass kicked, not when you needed comfort; and, Erica was more likely to laugh at you than comfort you.

Derek found it appalling.

Stiles stood on the far side of his dad's bed, near the foot.  The expression on his face showed happiness, while the scent of him was fear and worry and that aching grief and loneliness that was so familiar it made Derek's wolf whine loudly.  How the other wolves didn't smell it was beyond him.

Derek went straight to Stiles and stood between him and everyone else.  "Is he getting better?"

"Yeah.  Scott's mom says they think he'll wake up in a day or two."  Stiles glanced up, his eyes dark with worry in the dim light of the room.  "I'm pretty sure he'll wake up."

Fuck.

Derek turned his back on Stiles and growled sub-audibly at Erica.  Her eyes widened but she knew exactly what he meant and she turned and left with only a quick goodbye to Stiles.

Lydia watched Erica leave, raised her eyebrows at Derek, and also left with a brief goodbye.

Scott's eyes widened while Allison looked confused.

Derek silently bared his fangs and Allison said "Oh" and Scott flinched and dragged Allison from the room.

Derek turned back to Stiles, who was leaning sideways to see around him with a puzzled look on his face.

Derek grabbed Stiles, just wrapped his arms around the kid and held him close.

Stiles resisted, for a while.  He squirmed and got really flexible and evasive so Derek tightened his arms until Stiles couldn't move.

"Can't...breathe...dude, what?"

"You smell like _hospital_."  Derek made that word the expletive it should be.

Stiles froze...took about six seconds to process... relaxed.

\-----

The next night, the Sheriff was awake and Stiles was a dangerous bundle of relieved, happy energy.  Derek didn't think Stiles would appreciate getting a full-body hug from a former murder suspect in front of his admittedly-groggy dad, so he sat in a chair right next to Stiles and ran his hand up under Stiles' shirts and stroked his spine until his scent eased from manic relief to something much closer to his normal bouncing energy.

\-----

The next night, Derek arrived while the Sheriff was slowly getting to his feet, Stiles on one side and a bulky orderly on the other.  Derek hesitated in the doorway while they made it to the bathroom and back, then the Sheriff glared at Derek as he sat on the bed.

Stiles saw the look and said, "He's been here every day, Dad.  He came every day while I was here with you and he's okay, it's okay for him to be here, right?  Cause he's not a murder suspect any more so he can-"

"Stiles," the Sheriff said sharply.  "It's fine."  He gave Derek a _look_ (okay, wow, that's where Stiles got his way-too-underused ability to communicate full paragraphs with just his face) and collapsed back on the bed.

"I should go," Derek said into the sudden weird silence.

"Okay," the Sheriff said far too quickly over the top of Stiles' just as quick "No."

Derek raised his eyebrows, then looked at Stiles.  "I'll stop by tomorrow."

"Dude, no, we get to- Dad gets to go home tomorrow.  We won't be here."  Stiles opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more but stopped, then his head tilted forward a little as he looked at Derek hesitantly.

Derek jerked his chin at the door.  Stiles grinned and bounced and the Sheriff snorted.

"Be right back, Dad."

"Ahuh."

Stiles grabbed Derek's jacket and dragged him out of the hospital and around the corner of the building.  They stopped and faced each other there, Stiles still bouncing a little on his toes.  "Thanks.  I wanted to say thanks.  For coming here.  I know you hate hospitals and you came anyway, and you came every day, so.  Thanks.  Thank you."

"Welcome."

Stiles fidgeted.  It was slightly different from his bouncing and Derek wondered that he could actually tell the difference, then Stiles sort of jumped forward and slammed full-bodied into him and his arms went around Derek's waist and he squeezed.

Derek rocked slightly but he got his arms around Stiles right away and he got to skin as fast as he could because _Stiles_.

\-----

Derek went to the Stilinski house the next night.  He prowled the perimeter until he knew the locations of Stiles and the Sheriff (downstairs, watching TV, dinner over), and that they had no visitors.

A few minutes later he knocked on the front door.

Stiles answered the door.  He flailed a little, but then he licked his lips and got this little smile that caused Derek to jerk when his wolf bounded against his chest in an attempt to lick Stiles.

"Hey."

Derek held up the game he'd swiped from Stiles' room two minutes earlier.  He spoke loudly over the top of Stiles' head, "I brought back the game you loaned me."

Stiles frowned in puzzlement and Derek clapped a hand over Stiles' mouth as it opened.  He flicked his eyes upward in the general direction of Stiles' bedroom. 

A laugh gusted out of Stiles' mouth and tickled Derek's palm.  He let go, and Stiles still laughed a little, his amber eyes clear and happy and somehow a little more grown up than they'd looked a week ago.

Stiles grabbed the sleeve of Derek's jacket and pulled him in and up the stairs and called over his shoulder, "Dad, Derek's here, we're going upstairs for a minute."

"Keep your door open," the Sheriff called.

Stiles stumbled and Derek caught and righted him and Stiles yelled back, " _Really_ , Dad?" and grumbled low enough that even Derek couldn't understand him the rest of the way to his room.

Stiles closed his bedroom door behind them.

Derek raised his eyebrows.

"He didn't really mean it."

"He's a cop.  I'm pretty sure he doesn't say things he doesn't mean."

"I think he must have been shocked to see you in his house.  And that you know me.  Yeah, I think he was overwhelmed.  With shock.  And, y'know, the good drugs."

Derek narrowed his eyes and decided to let it go.  He had a feeling the 'door open' order had been for him anyway, not Stiles - oh _shit_.  Even his wolf froze for a brief moment of shock.  He opened the door and stuck his head out just long enough to call down, "Door's open."

"Appreciated, _Mr_. Hale," came the distant and acid reply.

Stiles sucked air and Derek could smell his sharp embarrassment from across the room.  Stiles' cheeks flushed pink and his mouth fell open – silent once more.

"Stiles?"

Stiles panted a few times then stuttered, "He- he- he just- he just- he-"

"Stiles."

" _My dad_ just warned you off.”

"Yeah."

"He warned you off... _me_."

"Yeah."

"He- you- me?"  Stiles dropped into his desk chair, stared blankly at Derek for a few seconds, then stood and clutched dramatically at his chest.  "Why would he embarrass me like that?"

Stiles' steady flood of embarrassment flickered as something that smelled like want threaded through it, and then a little bit of hope that Stiles quickly doused, until embarrassment was all that was left again.

Derek asked, "Why are _you_ embarrassed?"

"Well because, you're here and he- he did _that_."

"Not an explanation, Stiles."

"Well because, like, it's not like you're actually _interested_ in me."  His pulse jumped hard and his cheeks flushed again, harder, but his chin lifted as he said it.

Derek girded his loins and asked in all seriousness, "Why would you think that?"

"Well because- uh."  Stiles sat in desk chair again.  His eyes went wide and thoughtful and he chewed on his bottom lip and Derek twitched against his wolf.  "Because.  You've never said anything."

Derek's wolf stopped pushing and started laughing.  When had his life...Derek sighed.  "Do I _ever_ say anything?"

"No, you just _do_ shit," Stiles retorted.  Then he paled.  Then he flushed again.  Derek wondered if he just broke Stiles.  "Shit," Stiles said weakly, but the embarrassment faded, replaced by a level of happiness that had Derek's wolf whining and wagging.  Stiles clapped both hands over his face and leaned back in his chair.  "I'm stupid."

"You're not."

"I didn't see it."

Derek rolled his eyes.  Stiles saw plenty.  Stiles saw more than any of them, and he couldn't be faulted for having one tiny little blind spot.

Stiles abruptly sat up and spun in his chair and jerked his mouse back and forth to wake up his computer.

Derek frowned.

Stiles started clicking and clicking and Derek suddenly got a bad feeling.

"Stiles-"

"Derek, c'mere.  Look.  This part.  Wikipedia says that wolves knot when they-"

"Stiles."

"-have sex.  Do werewolves knot?  Are you gonna knot me when we have sex?"

Derek thought that maybe _he_ was the one who just broke, and his wolf was _no_ help at all because it was rolling around laughing hysterically right now.

"Cause I think I'd need to get extra ready for that."

" _Stiles!_ "

\-----

From: Stiles

To: Loverboy

home alone tonight cum over

\--

From: Derek

To: Stiles

Your dad has guns.

\--

From: Stiles

To: Sourwolf

no rly, dad has niteshift

\--

From: Derek

To: Stiles

You are underage.

\--

From: Stiles

To: Buzzkill

only 4 like 3 months get your ass over her

\--

From: Stiles

To: Buzzkill

here

\--

From: Derek

To: Stiles

No.

\--

From: Stiles

To: Sourwolf

hate you

\--

From: Derek

To: Stiles

Love you.

\--

From: Stiles

To: Loverboy

unfair i cant blv u said that

\--

From: Stiles

To: Loverboy

luv u 2

\--

From: Stiles

To: Derek

pls come over?

\--

From: Derek

To: Stiles

No.

\-----

Derek kept Stiles at arms-length until his eighteenth birthday.  He'd put the kibosh on either of them going further than removing shirts because he'd be damned if he got it on with a minor (Stiles' dad being the county Sheriff had _nothing_ to do with it).  Plus, between the ethics-dulling scent of Stiles' arousal and his wolf's constant howls of 'mate' every time they saw him, Derek was pretty sure he wouldn't have the self-control to stop Stiles, let alone himself.

Stiles retaliated by generally refusing to converse about anything but hot, horny, lubed up, sweaty, knotted, dirty, wet, filthy, werewolf sex.

For three months.

Really.

Three months.

The kid was shameless.

He started every conversation (and wouldn't deviate from his chosen topic) with things like 'Is your knot going to rip my ass apart?' and 'How big is your dick?  Have you measured it?  I need to know so I can be ready', and also 'Have you measured your knot?' and 'Are you gonna make me cum just by knotting me and telling me to cum, cause internet porn says', and 'Are you going to wolf out during sex?  Because I'm not into bestiality but I am into you so I'm not sure yet where I'll eventually land if it comes to that', and 'You can't get me pregnant from knotting, right?  Cause internet porn', and 'I'm gonna get to suck your dick, right?' and 'What happens if you get a knot while I'm sucking your dick?' and 'Are you going to bite me when you cum and turn me into a werewolf, cause internet porn', and 'Are you gonna suck my dick?  Cause I'm confident I'll like that', and 'What if I decide I want to fuck you?' and 'Do you go into heat, cause internet porn', and 'Am I going to suddenly go into heat, cause internet porn'.

On the upside, Derek got a very clear understanding of Stiles' expectations about how the whole sex thing was going to go down between them.

Also...lots of images that tended to bombard Derek every time he took a shower or fell asleep or woke up or smelled Stiles or lost focus to a daydream wherever he happened to be.  He frequently found himself blushing (and other things) at inappropriate moments when some of Stiles' more alarming and vulgar comments crossed his mind unexpectedly.

His wolf was a slobbering mess most of the time.  It was all so very disgusting and appalling and strangely erotic – but then, Stiles was his mate so perhaps it wasn't so strange at all.  But what did that even say about Derek?

Fuck.

\-----

So, yeah, Derek mostly steered clear of alone time with Stiles until Stiles' eighteenth birthday, fanatically respectful of human law for many, many reasons.  He had a long-overdue chat with the Sheriff about the burning of Derek's home and family so many years ago, and he'd tried with every word to convey to the Sheriff that he didn't need to worry about his underage-by-three-months son becoming sexually active with his twenty-four-year-old boyfriend.

The Sheriff was clearly displeased with the whole situation, but from what Derek gathered it was mostly due to their age difference.  Derek went out of his way to _talk_ when he had dinner with the Stilinskis every Tuesday night, to be honest and open with the Sheriff.  Invariably, Stiles laughed his ass off along with Derek's wolf at his efforts.

Derek couldn't figure out why that didn't piss him off, but maybe it had something to do with the knowledge that Stiles was his mate, would be his mate for life, and he was doing this _for_ Stiles.  And...Stiles laughed.  There was nothing bad about that.


End file.
